(Not) So Perfect
by Temorali
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is the intelligent, perfect, strictly rule-abiding Student Council President - but he has a secret, and he isn't about to let any of his fellow students find out. As a Senior, he thinks he's in the clear - until that idiot jock Alfred F. Jones stumbles upon Arthur's hidden double life. What will he do when he realizes Arthur isn't so perfect after all? Human AU USUK
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Arthur Kirkland grumbled to himself as he shuffled through his schoolwork diligently. Bloody idiots and their bloody inability to take care of themselves. Honestly, if the other students at his high school had half the responsibility Arthur had, his work load as Student Council President would be decreased tenfold. Instead, he was tasked with coming up with new ways to stop fools from destroying the school. A task which was far more difficult than it should have been.

 _Just wait until tonight, Arthur Kirkland. You've lasted the week so far. You can get through this._

That's right. If Arthur could keep pace, if he finished all his work by the time the school bell rang, then he'd be in the clear. He had lasted multiple weeks before this; multiple years, in fact, of fighting week by week to fill out as much paperwork as possible before giving himself a break he desperately needed.

 _Just a few more hours, and you'll be free._

…

Arthur Kirkland was the model student of his school. He took all advanced classes, got voted in as Student Council President, and never broke a single rule the school had set up. Teachers loved him for his willing obedience and tendency to make their work as easy for them as it possibly could be. There was a mutual respect between student and teacher that neither side wanted to break, and as far as Arthur could tell, there wouldn't be any need to do so. That fact reassured him, and decreased the stress he would have carried without their understanding.

Students, however, loved him not so much.

Calling him a "stuck-up know-it-all" among other various things, the rest of the student body tried as best they could to avoid Arthur like the plague. Those who didn't keep their distance often resorted to verbal abuse, but nothing they said could faze Arthur.

Instead, Arthur would take their behavior into consideration when deciding which budget cuts to make for the year. This only made his enemies angrier, but eventually, some of them got the idea and gave in. The others…Arthur still had to deal with. _Oh well,_ he thought to himself as he scrawled rushed yet precise words out on the paper in front of him. _It's simply another annoyance I have to deal with. But tonight will make everything all worth it._

Then the bell echoed loudly throughout the halls, signaling Arthur's release from this class to the next. The Briton scooped up his belongings and stuffed them into his torn rucksack, and then with his natural quick pace, he stood and strode out the classroom and into the hallway.

…

It was almost the end of the day, now. The suspense for tonight had Arthur tapping his foot impatiently as he watched the clock's second hand move slowly.

 _Tick_

 _Tick_

 _Tick_

 _Tick_

Only a few more seconds. A few more seconds, and Arthur would be free to leave this school, to go to the one place he ever considered sanctum from the outside world. A few more seconds, and any thoughts he had weighing him down would be gone, lost in the sky as if they had grown wings and flown away.

 _Tick_

 _Tick_

 _Tick_

 _Tick_

Arthur felt his muscles tense up in preparation for his escape. His foot tapped in rhythm with the soft clicks of the clock, and soon his fingers joined the chorus, drumming on the desktop evenly. If this kept up, he'd be able to run a band all by himself, he mused.

 _Tick_

 _Tick_

 _RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNG!_

With the arrival of the school bell, Arthur sprung from his seat and practically flew out the door, excitement pulsing in his every step. He flew down the hallway and sped towards his locker, then quickly deposited his belongings. Feeling better without the weight on his back, he shut his locker (gently, not loudly as some of the more rambunctious students were like to do) and spun around.

Only there was someone there when he did.

Arthur swore under his breath upon bumping into something firm. The Briton twitched his nose in annoyance, but looked up to see what he'd run into.

He instantly wished he hadn't.

Staring down at him was Alfred F. Jones, popular jock and notorious troublemaker. The teen's blue eyes scanned Arthur's form amusedly, and before long, a smirk stretched onto his face.

Arthur knit his eyebrows together and frowned. "What are you bloody looking at, young man?" he asked, irritation clear in his voice.

Alfred simply shrugged, the smile remaining. " _Nothing much_ , Mister 'Student Council President'. So, is it normal for someone as well-behaved as yourself to throw yourself at dashing heroes like me?"

Arthur snorted in an indignant half-laugh. "Don't be so full of yourself, Jones. You just happened to be taking up my air, and I desired to get you out of it as soon as possible."

"Ouch. That's mean, dude." Despite his words, Alfred's grin held strong.

Someone behind him – another jock, by the look of it – piped in eagerly. "Yo, Eyebrows! Leave Al alone, would'ja? Some of us have lives, and we can't be forced into wasting them because you held up one of our best players." Then the boy clapped Alfred on the shoulder, laughing loudly. "Come on, Al, let's get going. Leave the Pres to his pathetic excuse for a life."

Alfred laughed in response and nodded. "Comin', dude. I have a good feeling about tonight's game! I'll bet if we do good, Coach'll even get us donuts on the way back!"

The other boy chuckled something in response that Arthur didn't quite catch. Just as the Briton was about to turn and head off, however, he could have sworn he saw Alfred turn and glance back at him.

Oh well.

Jones was just another annoyance he'd have to deal with later, he decided.

But for now?

The night he's waited all week for.

…

Arthur Kirkland had a secret.

He was not nearly as perfect as everyone thought he was.

Not at all.

…

Multicolored lights illuminated the sea of human bodies in the darkness. The rapid heartbeat of music thrummed and pounded in their chests, in their heads. The dance floor was stuffed to the brim – people were mushed up against one another as they attempted to flail about in moves that they referred to as 'dancing', though such an art was impossible in a place like this. Regardless, their energy coursed through the room; alcohol and music pulsed in their blood, and it all forced adrenaline into his veins, made his heart beat faster, made him feel _alive._

Arthur Kirkland, the Student Council President and high-honor roll student of his high school, was currently spending time at a nightclub known as Nine Lives. He was onstage, guitar in his arms, singing words that were understood by every being here, and he felt like he was finally _free_. He had no worries when facing the Nine Lives crowd. There was nothing to do, no one to fear. Arthur Kirkland simply focused on the music in his hands, and in those fleeting moments on the stage, he was never happier.

And the people around him were excited, too. Arthur's presence at Nine Lives had become an almost weekly thing, and every time, the crowd would anticipate his performance with incredible vigor. Their grinning faces always encouraged Arthur to do his best, of course – but there was far more to it than that. For Arthur, these shows were a chance to escape the horrors of the real world and finally _belong_ somewhere.

It was the best feeling in the world.

Eventually, however, the song had to come to an end. That would be the last one tonight – Carlos, the club owner and bartender, had a set limit on how much time they played for. However, in return, he allowed them to play for free – a privilege that was granted due to excessive loyalty to the club and for attracting customers with good music.

As the last note hung in the air, Arthur stood frozen in front of the crowd, panting and sweaty, but exhilarated. It was only when a firm hand clapped his back that he raised his guitar in the air and shouted, thanking the crowd for coming out to see them tonight. At the people's cheers, Arthur turned and nodded to his band, then led them backstage.

With an excited grin, Arthur turned to his bandmates. The three of them were notoriously known as the 'Bad Touch Trio'; a name which, in any other place, would have had Arthur facepalming and trying to be as far away from the area as possible. However, despite their initial clashes in which Arthur (the responsible one) had tried to reel in the Trio (the irresponsible ones) the four of them got along just fine.

"Dude, you were awesome out there tonight, Boss!" Gilbert exclaimed in that unique voice of his. Gilbert Beilschmidt was an albino man with cropped white hair and fierce red eyes. He was the drummer of the band, and he spoke with a strong German accent – however, when asked about it, he would insist that he was "an awesome Prussian", despite Arthur's insistence Prussia no longer existed. He played his part of music with so much energy, however, Arthur often wondered how the man didn't pass out from dehydration.

"Sì! That was so much fun, Arthur! You did great!" Antonio, the curly-haired Spaniard, agreed excitedly. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was the band's electric bass; he always swore that an acoustic guitar was better, but he was amazing at playing the one he held. Antonio was a naturally cheery guy whose kind and polite demeanor often had Arthur confused as to how he ended up with a group like the Bad Touch Trio.

Someone slung an easy arm around Arthur's shoulders and laughed. " _Oui_ , Gilbert, he _did_ do great. Much better than when you tried to be our guitarist, for sure." Francis Bonnefoy, the band's co-guitarist, had long blonde hair and a light stubble on his chin. He was often perverted, and spoke of nothing but his wonderful _l'amour_ , but he was a great guitarist…and best of all, he had his own place that the band would crash at for the weekend.

Gilbert shot Francis an offended look. " _Excuse you_ , but I have an awesome voice, Francy-pants! I have no idea what you're even talking about!"

"Oh, I remember when Gilbert was our singer!" Antonio piped in, eyes bright. "The last time, before Arthur took over, Gilbert got booed off the stage and was pelted with beer mugs!"

"Hey, I'll have you know, they were cheering for me! And the beer shower was a reminder of home – they knew I'd think it was awesome!"

" _Mon Dieu_ , Gilbert…" Francis put his fingers on his forehead and sighed. "Please tell me you haven't forgotten about the one mug that knocked you out."

Arthur snickered. He'd heard this story before.

"Oh! Yeah, one of those mugs flew and hit your head, and you were out for two whole days!" Antonio laughed mirthfully at the memory.

"But Carlos was so horrified at what you were going to do to his business, he refused to call for help," Francis added in a knowing tone.

"Okay, okay! Geez, I get it…they just couldn't handle my awesomeness." Gilbert huffed and nodded to himself, as if he'd just solved the answer to everything. "One of these days I'm gonna be famous, just you see!"

Arthur shrugged Francis off his shoulder and put his guitar back in its case carefully. The other three followed suit with their equipment.

Once everything was safely put away, Francis spoke up. "So, as congratulations on all of us for a wonderful performance tonight, what do you say to a round of drinks?"

"Kesesese! It's about time! I've been craving beer all week – nothing's gonna stop me now!"

And with that, Gilbert was off, disappearing into the crowd of fans as he fought his way to where Carlos stood patiently. Antonio smiled sheepishly and followed him, leaving Francis and Arthur alone as they did one last check over their things.

"You know," Arthur said, as he walked with Francis to follow the two who'd already left, "I think this has got to be the best idea I've heard from you all week, Francis."

* * *

 _Here's a new story! This is going to be my first USUK fanfiction, and the idea originally came from my sister - she has so much to write, so I simply offered to take one of her ideas off her hands ;) However, the story is going to be written solely by me, so I hope you enjoy it!_

 _Hetalia and its characters do not belong to me._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

That had to be the worst idea Arthur had heard from Francis all week.

When Arthur woke up that morning, he woke up with a headache that could probably cause severe brain damage if it didn't get dealt with soon. At least, _he_ thought so. He fought desperately against opening his eyes, at first – when he couldn't take it any longer, the slightest glare of light sent his brain reeling, and Arthur seriously debated going back to sleep and never waking up again.

However, snoring that could have belonged to an elephant shook him from his fall back into unconsciousness, and with a groan, Arthur opened his eyes once more.

The first thing he noticed after blinking past that stupid light was that he was staring up at the ceiling. Which wouldn't have been weird if it weren't for the fact Arthur could see the underneath of the nearest coffee table from where he was currently laying.

Which meant he had fallen asleep on the floor.

 _Blimey, just how smashed did we get last night?_

Arthur tried to recall last night's events, but nothing was coming back to him. Which was probably a good thing, in the long run. Still, he figured he'd have to ask the others about it as soon as they woke up.

Arthur pushed himself up from the beige carpet, his back screaming in protest. Once he got to a sitting position, he looked to his right, where an albino lay on a deep blue-colored couch. So _Gilbert_ was the cause of the snoring. Not surprised, Arthur spent some more time simply waiting for his equilibrium to come back to him before staggering to his feet.

Casting a slow look around the room, he remembered that he was in Francis's apartment (the Frenchman had gotten kicked out of the house by his parents some time ago), which meant that he was safe. Safe as could be, anyway, with Francis as one's host. So far, the other two of his bandmates seemed to be missing, though he reasoned they were probably passed out in another room somewhere. Checking to make sure everything was in place – everything was, thankfully – Arthur pulled out his cell phone and checked the time.

He felt his heart stop.

It was 2:19 in the afternoon, but that wasn't what got him. He had woken up later than that after a late-night drinking session, and it was only Saturday, so it wasn't like he was missing anything.

No, it wasn't the time at all.

Arthur had gotten more than a few missed calls from his mother in the time he'd been out.

Swallowing a sense of dread, Arthur pressed the "call" button on his phone. He tried to steady the shaking in his hands as the line rang repeatedly.

Finally, after a few agonizing moments, his mother picked up on the other side. _"Arthur, dear, is that you?"_

Arthur nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "Hello, mum."

" _Dear, why didn't you pick up last night? I was so worried about you!"_

Arthur felt his gut clench and a bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face. Her voice would've sounded normal to the average listener, but he knew better. It was unnerving, how he'd picked up on the tiniest inflections in her speech that signified her mood.

"I'm sorry. My phone ran out of battery last night."

" _Your phone seems to always be running out of battery, dear. Are you quite sure you shouldn't trade it in for a new one?"_

"It'll be fine, mum. I just need to remember to charge it more."

" _Quite so, dear."_ A pensive silence hovered between them, broken only by their breathing. Finally, she spoke up again and said, _"Do return home soon, dear."_

And with that, she hung up with a soft 'click', leaving Arthur feeling drained. He slumped against the nearest wall with a sigh, massaging his temples.

His headache seemed ten times worse, now.

...Pain relievers.

He needed pain relievers.

Stumbling into Francis's kitchen, Arthur fumbled with a glass and filled it with water. Setting the glass on the counter, Arthur then opened the cabinet and snatched a bottle of pills from inside. After popping one in his mouth and taking a gulp of water, he allowed himself a long sigh and slumped against the counter behind him.

Then Arthur heard someone clear their throat, and he turned his head to see Francis standing in the doorway, watching him. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the bottle sitting out in the open. "You need to stop taking my stuff without asking first, mon ami."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Francis, considering I live here every weekend, I'm about just as entitled to these bloody things as you are." He picked up the bottle and played with it in his hands. "Besides, I helped pay for these."

Francis sighed, but his lips quirked up anyway. "Yes, yes, fine. Now, let me have one, will you? This headache is going to be the death of me…"

Arthur complied, tossing Francis the pills. The Frenchman tried to catch them, but his equilibrium was off, and the container ended up clattering to the floor. With a sigh, Francis bent over and scooped them up. After going through the same thing as Arthur had only moments before, they each fell into silence, nurturing their pounding heads. After some time, however, Francis spoke in a hesitant voice.

"Arthur, was that…?"

Arthur instantly knew who Francis was talking about. He nodded. "Yes."

They fell back into a moment of quiet. Neither of them looked at each other – there was nothing else to be said. Except for: "Good luck."

"Keep your luck," Arthur said with a humorless smirk. "You're going to need it for when Gil and Toni wake up."

…

…

Arthur frowned at the schoolwork piled on top of his desk. It was Monday again, which meant that there was no more relaxing in Francis's apartment, no more late-night clubbing. No more singing. Not until this Friday, at least.

That was how he had gone through his entire high school life, and that was how he was going to finish it. It was his Senior year of high school, after all – he only had the rest of this year to go before he'd be free, for real. Arthur wasn't sure what he was going to do after graduating, but he knew he planned on going to college. Maybe he'd play in a band. Maybe he'd write a book. Maybe he'd do office work for the remainder of his existence.

Arthur didn't know, but he didn't really care too much, either. He'd take whatever came his way.

Arthur rolled his shoulder and winced. It had been bothering him all day, but he tried to ignore it. Instead, he buried his nose in homework, drowning in work until the bell rang.

Gathering up his belongings, Arthur stalked out of the classroom and into the hallway. He was heading to his English class next, and it was just around this corner, and – "Aargh!"

Someone had plowed right on by him, forcefully shoving him aside with their sheer force. However, they had just so happened to run into his bad shoulder – an act which caused Arthur to cry out unintentionally. He dropped his things to the floor by instinct and clutched at the injury, swearing under his breath.

"Um, dude…are you okay?"

As if things could not get worse, Arthur looked up to see none other than Alfred F. Jones staring at him. "I didn't mean to run into you, dude. Is your shoulder okay?"

At least he seemed apologetic, Arthur thought as he clenched his teeth to fight through the pain. "Yes, it's q-quite fine, thank you."

Alfred didn't seem to notice the " _go away I really don't like you_ " tone in Arthur's voice, however. He bent down and collected Arthur's belongings in a messy pile in his arms, then awkwardly handed them back. "It doesn't look like it's really okay," Alfred said again, signaling to Arthur's shoulder. "I know I didn't hit you that hard. Did I? Because in a way, that'd be totally awesome, and –"

"No, you didn't. And my wellbeing is none of your business." Arthur felt his defensiveness kicking in, added to his previous frustration and pain. "You'd best be on your way, Jones."

Alfred's expression soured, and the American huffed. "Fine, dude. Have it your way. Just trying to make sure you're not hurt." And with a seriousness Arthur had never seen in those blue eyes before, Alfred stormed off, leaving Arthur staring after him feeling very, very confused.

…

…

" _Knees are weak, hands are shaking, I can't breathe…!"_

Arthur tapped his foot in rhythm with the notes on his guitar as adrenaline pounded in his veins.

" _So give me the drug, keep me alive, give me what's left of my life, don't let me go, whooaa…!"_

He felt everything wash away as he sang the words. Once again, he had no worries.

" _Pull this plug, let me breathe, on my own, I'm finally free…"_

This was where he belonged, he thought.

" _Don't let me go, whooaa!"_

The flashing lights, the beat of the music, the cheering from the darkness…

" _Don't let me go, whooaa!"_

...It was intoxicating.

" _Don't let me go, whooaa!"_

The last of the song faded away, and with it, the energy built up moments before. The crowd seemed unfazed, however, and they cheered excitedly, grins wide on their faces. With a grateful smirk, Arthur rolled his shoulder and hopped down from the stage, the rest of the band following soon after (Gilbert was crazy enough to try a backflip; the crowd didn't catch him.) They headed over to where Carlos stood with a pleased smile, pouring one of the other customers a bottle of beer. Arthur strode over and, with a cocky grin, pointed to one of the beers on the shelf, saying its name.

"Anythin' for my Friday stars," Carlos replied with a chuckle. He poured Arthur a shot before asking which the others would like.

Arthur took a long gulp of his drink and savored the burning in his throat. This was what he lived for. He knew he had probably said it a lot already, but it didn't make it any less true. He raised the drink back up to his mouth with a feeling of satisfaction…

"Arthur?"

…and spat the liquid out across the bar in shock.

* * *

 _...I've never had a hangover before so I apologize if my portrayal of one is incorrect._

 _The song is 'Injection' by the band Rise Against_

 _Hetalia belongs to Himaruya_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Arthur was stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of his name. He looked ahead, and right there, between the bodies of dancers on the floor and the mind-numbing light show, stood Alfred F. Jones. Confused blue eyes met startled green, and neither of them could move; they were frozen in the midst of time, unable to part away from the other's gaze.

In the midst of the surprise, the paralysis, one thought managed to break through Arthur's mind.

 _What the bloody hell is Alfred doing here?_

The American was the first to break from the trance. He took a hesitant step forward, dodged an elbow from a random dancer, then took another step. "Arthur?" he repeated again, "Arthur, is that _you_?"

Arthur thought his best chance was to simply run off and deny any accusations later, but his natural stubbornness made that option practically impossible. Besides, Nine Lives was _his_. He wasn't about to let some American kid take that away from him.

So instead of ignoring him, Arthur raised his chin and glared at Alfred. "Jones," he said, making sure to keep his tone decisively neutral.

"Damn, man, it _is_ you!" Alfred laughed awkwardly and came to a stop right in front of the Briton. "I almost didn't recognize you, with the singing and those punk clothes and…"

Alfred trailed off, and Arthur could practically see the gears in his brain grinding as he came to a painfully obvious realization. "..Wait," he said, eyes narrowing. "What are you even doing here, Arthur?"

Arthur scoffed. "Why should I tell you that?"

A look of frustration wormed its way onto Alfred's face. "Um, because I could get you reported? Because the principal would just _love_ hearing that his star student is hanging out at a night club?"

Arthur stared for a moment before snickering. "What?" Alfred asked, looking offended. "What's so funny about that?"

"You," Arthur said between chuckles, "are truly quite daft, aren't you?"

"Excuse me?!"

"You're out clubbing too, genius."

Alfred simply stared at him.

Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes. "Meaning, I'm certain your coach will not tolerate his star player spending time here any more than the principal would approve of _my_ being here."

Alfred at least had the common decency to look sheepish. "O-Oh. Yeah. I guess that's true."

"Oh? Arthur, you didn't tell me you invited a friend!"

Arthur groaned loudly as Francis squeezed past him. He stopped and took a long, hard look at Alfred, before humming his approval. "An attractive friend, at that. Tell me, Alfred, are you two lovers?"

That directness was something that Arthur should have seen coming, considering who he was talking to, but it still caught him completely off guard. He felt his entire face flush red, and he gawked openly at Francis as Alfred tried to respond.

"Uh, dude, what are you talking about? And how do you know who I am?"

Francis offered up a smirk and a wink, and Arthur almost punched him in the face. "Everyone knows who you are, non? At least, those of us who pay attention do..."

"Francis, you 'pay attention' to everyone, don't you?" Antonio piped up, slapping Francis's shoulder in a friendly manner. "Hola, Alfred! I'm Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, and it's nice to meet you! Don't worry too much about Francis here; he stalks almost everyone at school."

Arthur was at a loss of words (really; _don't worry_ about a not-so-secretive stalker?) but Alfred wasn't nearly so abashed. "Oh! Hi, dude! Nice to meet ya!" He stuck out a hand, and Antonio grabbed it, both of them shaking each other's eagerly.

Arthur finally felt his voice come back to him, and he put on a scowl and raised his chin. "Well, while you pansies get acquainted with one another, I'm going to get myself a drink. Alfred," Arthur jerkily nodded his farewell before stalking over to the bar where Carlos was already pouring drinks.

Not three seconds later did Gilbert plop down beside him, looking rather cocky as always. The two of them clinked their cups together with a grin, then downed their shots. Francis and Antonio eventually made their way over and joined them, looking pleased. Arthur was just about to ask why, when-

"Hey, mind if I join you guys?"

Francis and Antonio giggled – _giggled_ – as Arthur spun around to face Alfred, standing there casually, his hands in his pockets. Arthur was torn between shooing him away and glaring at him until his eyes gave out. Unfortunately, he was not given the chance to do either - Francis gave him an excited nod and scooted over a seat, and Alfred sat down _right beside Arthur and blimey he was going to kill that Frenchman._

Suddenly, the drink in Arthur's hands seemed a whole lot heavier. He knew how he was when he drank too much. He'd even seen a video of himself (courtesy of Antonio) and while that wasn't enough to deter him, he wasn't sure if he should allow himself to get that way in front of Alfred. So he decided to distract himself by doing one of the things he hated most.

Making conversation.

With a gulp, Arthur turned towards Alfred. "So. Um. Alfred."

Well that turned out about as awkward as he felt.

Alfred didn't seem to notice, however, instead flashing his winning smile. "Yeah, Artie?"

"It's _Arthur_ , you git." He scowled. "And anyway, I was just wondering something."

"You're wondering what I'm doing here, right?" Alfred laughed.

So the bloke wasn't as daft as he seemed. "Quite so," Arthur replied, trying not to seem all that intrigued. The truth was, however, that he was rather interested indeed, especially curious as to what the school's top jock had to come to a place like this for. Was he meeting someone? Was he secretly a devilish kid who ate up the spotlight anywhere he could? …Was he just simply here to see what it was like?

Alfred sat there, watching Arthur with that lopsided smile of his, but something seemed off. Arthur couldn't place what it was. "It's not too exciting," he claimed. He seemed distant. "I just kinda wanted to get away for a bit, you know? So I tried here. I heard about this place from one of my friends, and it really lives up to its reputation."

With that, Alfred took a long gulp of his drink. Arthur quickly tore his gaze away from Alfred's face. Which left him back to staring at his own cup of alcohol.

Ah, what the hell.

With a shrug, he downed the thing in one long gulp, and then called to Carlos for more.

…

When Arthur drearily came to this time, he was pleased to realize that he was not on the floor. He didn't know where he was, but it sure wasn't the floor. It was far too comfortable for that.

He carefully opened his eyes to see the stark white ceiling of Francis's apartment staring back at him. Arthur blinked painfully, trying to get his mind clear enough to at least manage to roll over. After fighting to get himself up and moving, he hesitantly pulled out his phone.

3:04, and his mum had not called him yet. He let out a sigh of relief. That was good. That was very, very good. With that stress out of the way, he allowed himself to begin trying to recall what had happened the night before. He didn't often remember what happened on the band's drinking nights, but sometimes, after thinking about it for a little while, he'd recall bits and pieces. Right now, he remembered the song, and Alfred, and…

And Alfred. Alfred had been there, he'd seen him, he'd…drank with him? It was really confusing, but he had definitely been there. Hopefully Arthur hadn't said anything too embarrassing. He had found out that he was prone to being too…open when he got drunk. There was very little his bandmates _didn't_ know about him by now. If he said something embarrassing to Alfred of all people…

The last thing he needed was some stranger knowing more details about his private life than they already did.

Nobody needed to know anything. Especially not Alfred, who would likely open his big mouth and gossip about him at school or something like that.

"Yo, Artie!"

…Well, speak of the devil.

Arthur looked up and cringed upon seeing an exceptionally cheerful Alfred standing in the doorway to the kitchen, peering in at him. He groaned.

"Hey, so Francis and the others went out to get food and stuff a little while ago, so they left me here to babysit, yeah?"

Arthur gave an affronted snort. "I don't need to be bloody taken care of. Why are you here, anyway?"

Alfred grinned and walked in the room, plopping down on the floor next to the couch Arthur was laying on. "I drove you guys home last night! I didn't know all four of you lived in the same house! Of course, I didn't know that you were in a band with those guys either, but you get the idea!"

"Yes, we live together. Sort of. Toni and Gil usually come and go as they please, and I only stay for the weekends." Arthur paused. "And how did you know where Francis lived?"

Alfred grinned. "Magic," he said confidently.

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"Alright, alright, fine. The Frenchie was a heckuva lot more sober than the rest of you. He just told me how to get here."

"Right, fine. Whatever." Arthur fell into momentary silence, then worked up the courage to ask what had happened last night.

"You and Gilbert got into a fight or something."

Arthur deadpanned. Had he heard that right? "…What?"

Alfred nodded, unperturbed. "Yup. You punched him in the nose after he shoved you off of your seat. I think you were fighting over whether birds or bunnies were better or something. It was really weird."

Arthur found he didn't have much to say to that statement, so he remained quiet. Eventually, he stood up, and (after taking a moment to steady himself on his feet) started off towards the kitchen. Alfred watched him as he walked, but Arthur didn't particularly care. He just wanted to grab something to eat to satisfy his slightly nauseous stomach. He rolled his shoulder just as he was entering the doorway, working out the kink that had worsened overnight.

"Dude, are you sure you're okay?" Alfred spoke up, the concern evident in his voice.

Arthur didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed. He chose to be neither.

"I'm quite alright. I just tweaked it earlier this week. No big deal."

Thankfully, Alfred seemed to accept this answer, and he let the subject drop. Arthur disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bowl of kiwi. Alfred seemed to be pondering something, and his brow was furrowed deeply in thought. When Arthur came back, he looked up, and asked, "So, if you're such a perfect student and all, what compelled you to play in a band? At _Nine Lives_?"

Arthur huffed. Alfred sure could be blunt when he wanted to be. "I like doing it. It's a great hobby."

Alfred laughed. "Sorry, dude, but a hobby is, like, knitting. Even if this band was only something you liked to do every now and then, there are better places to play than at a club. With your level of skill, I'm sure you could have figured something out."

…Why wasn't Alfred daft when he _bloody needed to be?_

"If you're so intelligent, Alfred," Arthur replied sarcastically, "then why are you seemingly unable to apply yourself in school? I've seen your work. It's not that impressive for someone with such _great deduction skills_."

Alfred's confidence faltered slightly, but he quickly got over it. "School's a drag, dude. I have better things to be worrying about. Besides, my grades are fine!"

"Alfred, Cs and Ds are not that fine."

"Hey, I had a B in there!" Alfred pouted, crossing his arms with a huff. "And besides, this conversation isn't about me, it's about you! If you were a year younger I totally wouldn't be voting you in for President next year."

"Not my problem," Arthur replied matter-of-factly.

Alfred had opened his mouth to speak when suddenly Gilbert came stumbling into the room from outside. He looked terrible, with bags under his eyes and disheveled hair, but he still wore his signature sneer with pride. In his arms was a bag full of fruit and some water bottles, both of which he rarely ever consumed. Arthur was about to question him when Antonio and Francis followed in behind him, closing the apartment door. They too held groceries in their arms as they made their way to the kitchen, casting curious glances towards the two men who were sitting across from each other.

Arthur almost choked on his kiwi when Francis winked at him. He would have to make a point to set the Frenchman's facts straight before he started spouting random nonsense later.

"Hola, amigos! We've brought back some food!"

Arthur winced at the volume of Antonio's voice, but it only got worse when Alfred spoke up again. "Dude, awesome! I was really hungry! Did you get any hamburgers by any chance? Because I'd totally kill for a hamburger right about now!"

"Shut up, shut up!" Arthur hissed under his breath. Alfred glanced at him curiously.

"Dude, what's the – oh. Right. Drunkards."

"Alfred, thank you for your time, but I do think you should be leaving now."

"But the food-"

"Go on. Go. Out with you." Arthur made a shooing motion with his hand as he signaled pointedly to the door.

Reluctantly, Alfred did as he was told.

"Merci, Alfred! Thank you for taking care of our youngest!" Francis called from the kitchen.

Arthur was about to retort, but Alfred simply smiled and waved goodbye before walking out the door.

While that last reaction seemed a little strange, Arthur didn't dwell on it. He had a few things he still had to sort out with Francis, and he needed to wait out this hangover, but otherwise, he planned on enjoying a nice long weekend in the safety of this apartment.

* * *

 _And here we are with chapter three!_

 _I just wanted to take a second to thank everyone who is reading this story so far. I've never had so many followers within such a short time period, it really means a lot to me!_

 _And extra special thanks to my reviewers, whose words are very inspirational! I'll try to have the next chapter up soon!_

 _Hetalia belongs to Himaruya, not me._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Yo, Artie!"

Arthur shut his locker and turned around as Alfred strode down the hallway towards him, smiling and waving. Any confusion Arthur might have felt about this sudden friendliness was mirrored in turn by the other students nearby, who knew that the only times he and Alfred interacted were when they were arguing.

Nevertheless, Arthur nodded in recognition, then turned to begin heading on his way with an armful of schoolwork, expecting Alfred take that and go about his business. However, the American instead quickened his pace until he fell into place beside Arthur with a confident gait. Arthur looked sideways at him, curious, and Alfred's smile only broadened.

"Hey, dude! What's up?"

Arthur grunted and shifted the supplies in his arms to get a better hold on them. "I'm heading to class, Jones. What does it look like?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow, his grin never faltering. "I know, I'm not stupid. It's an expression. You know, how people say hello? Has no one ever told you "hello" before or something?"

Arthur sighed, exasperated, and replied, "People have said 'hello' to me plenty of times. I simply refuse to recognize how ridiculous it is to ask someone 'what's up' when they have no interest in actually listening to what the other person has to say."

This caused Alfred to pause. "…Now I think I remember why you don't have any friends," he said, sounding more than a little blown away.

Arthur scowled. "Why does everyone think that? I have friends."

"Sure, dude. If you say so." Alfred then looked down at the things Arthur held, his eyes widening. It was as if he'd never seen so many school-related objects in one place during his entire life. "Whoa, that's a _lot_. Do you need me to carry anything?"

Well, this was a surprising turn of events. Was Alfred actually _offering_ to help _him?_ Arthur was inclined to deny out of stubbornness, but his shoulder, though almost healed, was aching at the weight. So, with great reluctance, Arthur begrudgingly sighed and passed his things over.

"You share History class with me, right? Take my things there. And don't even think of dropping them."

Alfred laughed at Arthur's commanding tone and resituated the pile of books in his arms. "Whoa, this is heavier than it looks! This should be a new kind of weight-lifting exercise!" He then glanced back down at Arthur, sizing him up. The Briton tried not to shrink under his gaze. "…Do you actually carry this stuff all day?"

"I do. I have quite a lot of work to do, and my rucksack cannot carry everything."

"Your what?" Alfred asked, looking confused.

Arthur rolled his eyes. Stupid Americans and their weird words. "My bookbag. Backpack. Whatever you call it." He gestured to the worn and torn bag slung over one of his shoulders. "It's been through a lot, so it'll rip if I put too much in it."

Alfred shaped his mouth in an 'oh', taking note of the poor condition of it. "Why don't you just get another one?" he asked.

It was an innocent enough question, but Arthur evaded it nonetheless. "We're almost to class. Hand me back my things so people don't see us associating."

Alfred did as he was told, but shook his head with a confused smile. "You say that like it's a crime or somethin', Artie."

Arthur frowned at the use of that horrendous nickname. "My name is _not Artie_ , and you would do well to remember that." With his belongings in hand, he cast one last skeptical look up at the American's face. "Thank you for taking my things."

"Hey, no problem, dude. Any time."

Arthur nodded one last time before entering his History class, moving over and taking a seat at the far end of the room. Alfred was seated on the opposite side, towards the front of the room, where he covered his desk in random notebook sheets and sprawled himself out comfortably.

Arthur frowned at the mess. _He's barely been here for one minute and his workplace looks like a pigsty. Is it really_ that _hard to keep things in a neat order?_

As if he knew he was being criticized, Alfred turned around to face Arthur with a smile, waving at him. Arthur scrunched up his nose in distaste, looking away. He wasn't sure why he had been paying any attention to Alfred in the first place. What the American did was none of his business.

The teacher began class soon after, and Arthur once more fell into a machine-like state of completing his work as it was handed to him. At least, he tried to. Alfred, however, was proving to be incredibly distracting. He continuously cast glances and smiles back his way, and when Arthur attempted to ignore him, he would crumple up sheets of paper and lob them all the way across the room when the teacher's back was turned. Finally, after twenty minutes with minimal work completed, Arthur snapped his head up, glared at Alfred, and mouthed, _what?!_

Alfred seemed excited about getting a response out of Arthur, and he turned around and quickly scribbled something out on a piece of paper. He waited until the teacher wasn't looking, then threw it over to Arthur, the scrap bouncing on his desktop and landing by his feet.

Arthur bent down, annoyed and frustrated, and retrieved the crumpled ball with another glare in Alfred's direction. He unfolded it quietly to see a note scrawled in sloppy handwriting. It read:

 _Dude, you going to NL again this Friday?_

Assuming "NL" was referring to Nine Lives, yes, Arthur was planning on it. As for why Alfred wanted to know, well. That was quite a different question.

He glanced back up to see Alfred beaming at him, turned almost completely around in his seat. A couple students nearby whispered to one another, following his gaze to look at Arthur with disgust. Arthur ignored them – what he was _really_ concerned about was how purely interested Alfred seemed to be about this subject. He didn't look like he was going to give up any time soon, unless Arthur gave him an answer.

He wasn't sure why, but instead of lying to him, he nodded slowly. Alfred lit up even brighter, and went to scrawling out something on another piece of paper. Not a minute later another note landed on Arthur's desk, and he unfolded it to reveal another message.

 _Can I come?_

Some part of Arthur's mind felt sorry for the tree that died for these three words, but he had a greater problem on his hands. On one hand, if he told Alfred he couldn't tag along, he'd either throw a fit or concoct some story to convict Arthur of going to the club; or, he'd do both, therefore making Arthur's life hell. On the other hand, if he actually _allowed_ Alfred to come with him, he would be forced to put up with him all night, and if he made it a ritual, his following nights of freedom would be tainted. But…

 _I just kinda wanted to get away for a bit, you know?_ Wasn't that what Alfred had said? Arthur could sympathize with that statement. He understood the need to simply get away from everything, more than most people. So, to deny Alfred that escape, to force him to remain in a reality that he wanted no part in, would be cruel.

With only five minutes left in class, the teacher gave the students permission to talk. Students immediately began chatting, moving around the class to be closer to their friends. A couple girls moved closer to Alfred, greeting him amiably, and Arthur looked away and began packing up his things. He was more than a little disappointed by the lack of work he completed this hour, and he knew he'd have to work later into the night to finish it if he wanted to be free for the weekend. He was just going through a checklist of what needed to be done when he saw someone approach him out of his peripheral vision.

"So, Arthur? What's your answer?"

Looking up in surprise, Arthur saw Alfred leaning over him with curious eyes, his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. Arthur stared up at him, wondering exactly _why_ he was talking to him where other people would see. Didn't he know that talking to Arthur Kirkland was an instant social downgrade?

Alfred stared back, seemingly unconcerned about anything going on around him. Eventually though, he asked, "So, um, dude? I know I'm good-looking and all, but I kind of asked you a question?"

Arthur snapped out of his haze, embarrassed but scowling. "Right. So. You're a grown man, Jones, so I couldn't exactly stop you if I wanted to."

"Meaning…?"

Blimey, the hopeful look in his eyes could really do a number on one's heartstrings. "Meaning, I _suppose_ I don't mind if you come along-"

"Aww, yeah! You're awesome, dude! Thanks!"

Arthur winced at the sudden volume of his voice, but Alfred seemed nothing short of ecstatic, and he instantly thrust a fist towards Arthur. Arthur stared at it for a long, hard moment before looking back up at Alfred, confused as to why his fist was hovering over his desk.

"Um, brofist? Fist bump? C'mon, don't leave me hangin' here!"

Arthur still wasn't sure exactly what it was Alfred wanted, but he _did_ know that he was getting some rather odd looks from some of the other students, so he hesitantly bumped Alfred's fist with his own. That seemed to be like the key to the lock, for Alfred removed his hand and returned it to its pocket, grinning.

"Great! I'll see you Friday, then!" he exclaimed, nodding happily. He turned, looked over his shoulder one last time, and then walked off to rejoin the other students, leaving Arthur feeling drained, annoyed, and very, very confused.

…

Arthur sighed and looked up at the clock hanging on his wall. It read 1:04 am; he had been up all night studying, and he still had some paperwork to finish for his calculus class and a few pages from Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_ to read before English tomorrow.

Sighing, Arthur put his pencil back down and scribbled out an answer for one of his mathematical problems. He was exhausted, but he'd had plenty of late-nighters, so he was used to it. He just had to continue working, and he'd be okay.

Arthur worked for another fifteen minutes, yawning periodically but otherwise completing his tasks in an efficient manner. He was just about to solve another equation when he heard a thump from downstairs.

Arthur froze as he listened.

His mother's voice resonated through the floorboards as she grumbled to herself, closing the door with another thump and striding across the room, her high-heeled shoes clacking. In a rush, Arthur stacked his worksheets and turned off the lamp on his desk, engulfing his room in darkness. His heart was beating quickly, but he threw himself under the covers and rolled to face away from the door, and closed his eyes as he pretended to be asleep.

After a few long, agonizing moments, his mother's footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. She paused just outside his door. Arthur waited tensely, but to his relief she walked down the hall to where her own bedroom was, slamming the door shut.

Arthur got very few hours of sleep that night.

* * *

 _Thanks for being patient with me, everyone! As promised, here's the next chapter! This one is a little lighter, but don't worry, the drama is on it's way.../insert evil chuckle here/_

 _Arthur is quite the diligent student, isn't he? Working until one in the morning...he deserves a gold star._

 _Hetalia does not belong to me._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 _"Although we have no obligation to stay alive_

 _On broken backs we beg for mercy, we will survive_

 _I won't be left here_

 _Behind closed doors"_

…

It had been another successful, exciting night performing at Nine Lives. The band had introduced a new song to the crowd, and – while it was only a cover, considering none of the members had quite enough time to write their own lyrics – it was a hit. The people of Nine Lives were ecstatic, and one woman even offered to pay for their drinks.

This night was off to a smashing start.

With a cocky grin, Arthur called for another shot of beer, downing the cup quickly. Antonio was sitting next to him, laughing cheerfully as he talked to the small crowd that had formed around them, and he and Arthur exchanged a pleased glance before they resumed their activities. Francis was nearby, dancing with some skinny woman he'd met, and Gilbert was sitting a couple of seats away from Arthur, cackling loudly and telling stories of his awesomeness to anyone who'd listen.

All was right with the world…but then Alfred arrived.

The American seemed uncharacteristically hesitant to approach at first, Arthur noted as he noticed him some distance away. He looked a little out of place here, wearing his casual clothes and standing alone by the doorway. His eyes looked up and locked with Arthur's after some time; he nodded to himself, like he was working up his courage, then strode over to the bar and right up to Arthur.

Arthur Kirkland looked up at Alfred F. Jones with a seemingly bored expression, but that was far from the truth. In fact, he couldn't have been more immersed in this night's events, and he had enough alcohol buzzing in him that he felt like he could take on the world. Regardless, he had an appearance to keep up; here, in Nine Lives, he was the boss. And Alfred would do well to remember that.

"So, you've finally come on over. I was quite certain you'd hover by the doorway until dawn." Arthur sneered and gestured for Alfred to take a seat. "Come now, don't just stand there."

Alfred seemed wary of Arthur's inviting behavior, but sat down on the stool nevertheless. "Well, you seem happy," he stated. "Planning something?"

"Well, I did originally plan on getting you so smashed you couldn't even stand, but I doubt that would change anything." Arthur laughed at Alfred's perturbed expression, then took a drink of his beer. "Don't worry. I haven't come up with a better idea as of yet."

"Oh, what a _relief,_ " Alfred sighed sarcastically. He awkwardly called to Carlos to get him something, and turned back to Arthur once he had his drink in hand. "So, your performance seemed to do well."

Arthur was about to respond when Francis sauntered over, a cigarette in his mouth. Arthur looked away in disgust. It wasn't often the Bad Touch Trio smoked – they weren't addicted, and they rarely even held a cigarette, much less owned one – but every now and then, on a good night like this, they'd indulge a little. Arthur couldn't stand it. He had never smoked, and he had his reasons why he never would. Thankfully, his friends understood that.

Francis flicked his cigarette into a nearby ashtray before slinging an arm over Alfred's shoulders, smiling. "Ah, you have returned, _mon ami!_ It is so wonderful to see you here. Did you enjoy the show?"

Alfred seemed to brighten up at Francis's welcoming words. It was much easier to converse with the Frenchman than a snarky Briton, Arthur supposed, so he turned back and gave the two of them their space. It got the American off his back, anyway.

"The show was great! I seriously can't get over how awesome you all are, y'know? Even Arthur!"

Arthur's eye twitched at the back-handed compliment, but he didn't confront it. No, best to keep drinking, to focus his attention elsewhere…

Francis and Alfred's conversation carried on as Arthur looked over to Antonio, watching as he typed out a reply to a text on his phone eagerly. The Englishman leaned over his shoulder and peeked at the screen. He was texting some kid whose name was written as _Lov(e)ino_ , and he was too absorbed in his phone to realize Arthur was reading every word.

"Didn't peg you for the forward type, mate," Arthur claimed, snickering at Antonio's text.

The Spaniard turned around and faced him, unfazed and laughing. "Ah! _Hola_ , Arthur! I didn't see you there!"

"You don't tend to see anyone if you're already focused on one thing, Antonio." Arthur glanced back at the screen for a moment, thinking. "Isn't Lovino that Italian bloke, with the loud mouth?"

Antonio nodded, smiling fondly. " _Sí,_ that's him!"

"I didn't know he was into men. He's always flirting with the girls around school."

Antonio shrugged. "I don't think he's really that into men, actually."

"Except for you?" Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow.

That made Antonio grin, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. "I hope that's the case!"

"Sorry to interrupt, but I must be taking my leave," Francis spoke up from behind Arthur. The Briton turned around to see Francis already about to walk away.

"Why are you leaving so early, Francis? The night has barely even begun!" Antonio asked from over the top of his phone.

Francis gestured with his head towards the crowd, smirking. "Wish I could, but I have a date to attend to. I'll meet you all back at the apartment, _oui?_ "

Arthur watched as Francis strutted to the entrance of Nine Lives, winking at him one last time before leaving from sight. He sat there for a few moments, before the realization hit him.

He had just been left behind with Alfred.

He turned back to see the American staring after Francis curiously, confusion flickering across his face before he looked away and back towards Arthur. He and Arthur locked gazes before the Briton sighed, leaning on his counter as he took another drink.

"I suppose…" Arthur started to say, musing but reluctant, "I should be a gentleman and provide you with some conversation. Since Francis was so eager to bow out on us and all."

Alfred, looking torn between protesting and agreeing, simply opted to keep his mouth shut for once.

Arthur did as he'd promised, keeping up a slight conversation, though it was awkward and fumbling. Alfred responded the best he could, and Arthur tried to find topics that they could both relate to.

There were very few.

Eventually, after falling into a slow kind of silence, Arthur decided to ask the question that had been nagging at him all evening. It may have been a personal question, but at this point, he figured there'd be no shame in asking.

"So, Jones. Why did you want to come to Nine Lives tonight?"

Alfred didn't look surprised at the question. He tapped his finger on his still-full glass as he mulled it over, not meeting Arthur's gaze. "I guess…I just wanted to get away again. And this seemed like just the place to go."

Arthur thought on this for a moment before asking a second question. "Alfred…just what is it you're running away from?"

He didn't particularly care if that was an invasive question or not; Alfred was the one who had come into _his_ sanctuary, after all. And if he didn't want to answer, fine. He wouldn't push. But the curiosity still pricked at the back of his mind.

 _Just what compelled someone like you to come to a place like this?_

Blue eyes flitted over Arthur's face, and Alfred seemed to deflate as he thought about the answer to this question. Finally, he managed to give a weak laugh, and he scratched the back of his head nervously. "It's a long story," he answered, eyes downcast. "Basically, I didn't want to be with people who don't understand me. It just gets irritating, you know? So I came here." He looked down at his glass with a small smile, though there was no mirth in the gesture. "It just seemed as good a place as any, yeah? Because even if these people are only here to have fun, they aren't judging me."

Arthur looked long and hard at Alfred, then averted his gaze down to his very own glass. He had never known the American ran this deep. Of course, he had never given it much thought, but still…to hear this so solemnly, coming from a guy who was only ever loud and social…

Not that he was going to just up and be kind to the bloke or anything. Arthur was sorry for whatever was happening in Alfred's world, but it wasn't his problem. Alfred was strong – he'd deal with it on his own. He'd be fine.

After a long moment of reflective silence, Alfred raised his head, looking into Arthur's eyes. In a hesitant voice, he asked, "And what about you? What do you come here for?"

This gave Arthur pause. He took a quick shot of alcohol to steel his nerves, trying to shake off the negativity that began swarming his mind. "I don't particularly enjoy that subject, Jones. I come here for the band and the booze. That's all you need to know."

Indeed, that was all Alfred needed to know. In fact, that was _more_ than Alfred needed to know, considering he shouldn't have even found out about his Nine Lives career in the first place.

Apparently Alfred thought differently.

"What do you mean, you 'don't enjoy the subject'? I answered your question, didn't I?"

"What, was there some question-answering rule I wasn't aware of?" Arthur bristled. "I never told you I would hand my life story to you on a silver platter, Jones, and if you believed that, you'd be sorely mistaken."

Alfred narrowed his eyes, offended. "I just thought it'd be fair! Or at least you'd turn me down like a sensible person. Shit, who spilled _your_ tea?"

Arthur snorted, too wrapped up in his argument to try and understand that last statement. "You know what? I'm not going to take this." What was he saying? Alfred was right – he wasn't being sensible at all. But he just kept on talking, unable to think properly. "You can just sit here and wallow in your own self-pity or…or whatever." Why wasn't he able to stop? "I'm not going to sit here and listen to you whine anymore. I'm leaving."

Before he knew what he was doing, Arthur was on his feet, striding towards the exit. Alfred stood up to follow, but Antonio held him back. He was saying something about just letting Arthur go off and cool down. Probably a good idea.

Arthur stumbled out of the club, intoxicated and angry. The cool night air hit him all at once, washing over him and making his frustration turn into hopelessness. For a moment he leaned against the closest wall, holding his head as he fought with the darkness rising up within. A few passersby watched him with concerned eyes, though, so he pushed himself forward.

He wasn't going to let these people see him like this.

He wasn't about to anyone see him like this.

And he knew exactly where he had to go.

…

 _When hope is nonexistent,_

 _Our instincts all scream "Run",_

 _We never turn our backs or even bite our tongues._

* * *

 _Thanks for the patience, everyone! Here's chapter five - I hope you liked this chapter, and you'll like the next!_

 _The song is "Behind Closed Doors" by Rise Against._

 _Also, if I finish (Not) So perfect, I'm thinking abut writing another story that follows this one, but from Francis's point of view. He's actually a rather important character in this story, and he's got a lot going on behind the scenes. Please, tell me what you think!_

 _Reviews are welcome!_

 _I do not own Hetalia or it's characters._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

He leaned over the railing of a low bridge overhanging a river, the night sky reflected on the slow-moving surface and the mirrored stars staring up at him from below. There was no wind. There were no other people. There was nothing but tranquil silence.

Arthur stared out over the water in thought. What Alfred had asked before…it wasn't entirely unreasonable. After all, the American had been nothing but open to him this entire time. Sure, he wasn't being specific, but Arthur certainly didn't care. He wasn't a part of Alfred's life. What he did, and what troubles he had, those were not Arthur's business.

Yet when Alfred asked that simple question in return, Arthur had treated him like shit.

He might have blamed his aggressiveness on the alcohol, but he knew inside that wasn't the case. He was a naturally defensive person – any danger, any situation he needed to get out of, he would become like…like that.

But no matter how much he knew he had been rude to Alfred, he wasn't going to step down. And he surely wasn't going to go and _explain_ everything to the poor bloke. He probably got apologized for by Antonio anyway. Everything was okay.

Except everything wasn't.

Arthur was messed up. He had shoved Alfred away, not because he _wouldn't_ tell him why he felt it necessary to escape his life every free second, but because he _couldn't_. He hadn't told anyone, not since Francis. Francis was the only person who knew it all. Antonio and Gilbert knew bits and pieces, but even they didn't have the entire story.

And there was no bloody way he was about to let some new, annoying stranger behind his carefully sculpted walls.

A light breeze blew by and Arthur shivered slightly. It wasn't particularly cold, but it was only early spring and he was still dressed in his punk clothing that he'd worn during the concert. His ripped sleeves didn't offer much protection from the cool night air, but he didn't mind. The cold was refreshing.

Unlike the loneliness.

Arthur stood there for a while longer, then opened his mouth, and sung in a quiet, slow voice.

" _Do you spend your days counting the hours you're awake?"_

It was from the song he had sung a few weeks ago, but he wasn't singing it as some rock star anymore. Right now, it was an echo of his heart – a requiem. And no one was there to hear it.

" _And when night covers the sky you find yourself doing the same…_

 _There's a burden you've been bearing in spite of all your prayers…_

 _There's a light turned off inside your heart…_

… _Can you remember what it's like to care?"_

Arthur let himself fall silent after that. He stood alone, looking out over the river for a little while longer before he heard footsteps approaching him.

He didn't move, but he knew who it was. There was only one person he could think of who would have followed him all the way out here at this hour.

"Alfred."

"…Arthur."

The American seemed hesitant, and his voice was surprisingly solemn. He came to a stop roughly five feet from where Arthur was standing, not daring to venture closer.

"Bugger off," the Briton commanded, but even he noticed his voice lacked its typical bite.

Alfred waited for a few seconds before inching closer, until he was leaning over the railing just as Arthur was. Strangely, Arthur didn't mind.

The two of them sat in the silence, with only the sound of their breathing to remind them that they existed here. It was odd – when did Alfred become so quiet? – but it was peaceful.

"Your singing is really good," Alfred said, not turning to face him.

Arthur barely reacted. "You were listening?"

"Mhm." Finally Alfred looked over, watching Arthur with crystalline blue eyes. "I've never heard you sing like that before."

"You'd never heard me sing at all before last week," Arthur responded dryly, glancing over at the American.

He offered a slight smile. "Yeah, but you just didn't seem the type, y'know?" He turned back towards the water slowly. "But…yeah. It sounded really nice."

Such honest flattery brought a blush to Arthur's face, and, embarrassed, he attempted to hide it by turning his face away. "Y-Yes. Well. I _am_ the lead singer of a band, you git."

Alfred laughed softly in response, clearly not taking Arthur's words as an insult. Which was good, because the last thing Arthur needed on his conscience was the guilt of offending a puppy-like teen who had come all this way after an intoxicated rebel.

Speaking of which…

"Why'd you go and follow me all the way out here?" Arthur asked, turning to meet Alfred's eyes once again in his curiosity.

Alfred blinked, then lowered his eyes, his expression dead serious. "I just needed to make sure you were okay."

Arthur stared at him, mouth open, as he tried to digest what Alfred had just said. _Did he just…admit that he actually_ cares? He felt the blush return despite himself, and he looked down to hide it, pushing aside his earlier thoughts. _No, he didn't say that. He just wanted to make sure a tipsy bloke didn't get run over or something. That's all._

Alfred smiled sheepishly, oblivious to Arthur's current predicament. "After all, I'm the hero! And I couldn't just wait there. Not when you could have passed out or gotten lost or something!"

 _Knew it._

Arthur swatted the back of Alfred's head lazily, a part of him still touched by the fact Alfred had come all the way out here just to ensure his safety, even if his worries were completely unwarranted and all the more misplaced. Alfred laughed easily and lowered his head to lessen the already weak impact, bringing the hint of a smile to Arthur's face as well, before they both came back to themselves and faded once more into quiet. The laughter eased from Alfred's face and was turned into what looked like worry, though, and he soon met Arthur's eyes.

"So, um…you _are_ okay, right?"

Arthur blinked, lowering his eyes as he resumed staring out over the water. He felt Alfred's gaze boring into him, searching his face for answers, but he didn't move.

After a long, agonizing moment of silence, Arthur finally spoke.

"I'll never be okay."

He wasn't sure why he'd admitted that. It would surely only lead to more questions, and that simply wasn't something someone just _dropped_ on a fellow they barely knew.

Shockingly, however, Alfred didn't question that statement. In fact, he _nodded_. It was as if he understood exactly what Arthur had meant.

The Englishman found himself at a loss for words.

Another breeze blew past, and Arthur found himself shivering again, holding his arms in a futile attempt to keep them warm. Alfred noticed this, and raised an eyebrow. "Are you shivering, dude?"

"I assure you, I'm fine," Arthur snapped in response. He turned his back on Alfred, not wanting to be any more embarrassed than he already was.

Suddenly, something warm brushed up against his side. Arthur turned to see a bomber jacket being handed to him, the American behind it smiling. Arthur regarded the fabric suspiciously, not making a move to take it from Alfred's hands.

Alfred thrust it forward again, willing for Arthur to wear it. "I'm like, totally resistant to the cold. I don't need it!" he exclaimed, still holding it outwards.

Arthur regarded it for a moment longer before turning away. He still had his pride, and besides, it wasn't too unbearably cold…

Arthur heard a sigh from beside him. That was all the warning he got before the American came up from behind him and wrestled his arms out, forcing the jacket onto Arthur's body before stepping back, grinning. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Arthur scowled. He probably looked absolutely ridiculous in this. It was too large and baggy for his small frame, and all he could see of his hands were the tips of his fingers. However, it did happen to be quite warm… "I… _suppose_ I'll wear it for now," he relented begrudgingly, "but only because if I don't, you bloody well won't stop badgering me about it, right?"

A bark of laughter, and Alfred's grin broke out wider. "You got that right, Artie!"

"Jones, my name is Arthur. Please, _do_ get that right for once, won't you?"

"Fine, okay! But only if you call me by my name!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"You know…the whole Jones deal? We're friends, aren't we? You can call me Alfred! Or Al. Or the Hero! …Whatever you want."

…Wait. Friends? When had he and Alfred become _friends?_

"…I don't quite know what you're going on about. Why do you think we're friends?" Arthur's voice wasn't filled with malice this time – only confusion, and curiosity.

Alfred stared at him like he'd just asked the simplest question. "Well, you let me come along to your show, didn't you? And we're having this little talk right now. And since you're always so lonely, I thought that you could use a friend." He seemed to hesitate, thinking. Then he added, hurriedly, "Unless you didn't want to be friends."

While not a question, Alfred seemed to be expecting some sort of answer – an answer Arthur wasn't sure he could give. Just an hour ago Arthur couldn't stand the boy. Now, he was expected to be his friend?

…Then again, he'd been little else other than kind, and while he didn't need to worry so much (after all, Arthur _did_ in fact have people whom he called his friends) it was still a bit refreshing. And the American seemed to have gotten himself all nervous, now.

Arthur sighed reluctantly, shrugging. "Jo-Alfred," he started, catching his mistake, "I…accept your offer. Just don't expect me to get all nice and mushy or what have you. I'm not changing for you, understand?"

Alfred's eyes lit up like lights, and he grinned. "Awesome! And dude, you're totally cool. Don't worry about it!"

Arthur and Alfred continued talking for a little while longer. Not about anything important, or depressing, or even humorous. They simply…talked. Arthur could safely say he hadn't had such a normal conversation in quite some time. And it was…surprisingly nice.

Eventually, however, the alcohol in Arthur's system caught up to him, and he found it harder and harder to stand and keep his eyes open at the same time. It wouldn't be good to pass out here, or in front of Alfred. "Well, I think it's time I went on home, Alfred."

The American stared up at him through curious eyes, taking in his condition with surprising perception. "You aren't going to make it far like that," he assessed warningly.

Arthur snorted in slight offense. "Excuse you; I can make it back just fine."

Never mind that his speech was beginning to slur, of course.

"Of course you can." Alfred smirked and walked closer, until he was standing side-by-side with Arthur. "Look, I'll take you home, okay? As a hero, I can't just let the defenseless drunk guy wander home alone!"

Arthur wanted to punch him, he really did. But some part of him registered Alfred's words, and he knew the American was right…much as he loathed admitting it.

"…Fine. This one time. Not because I need the help or anything, of course."

Alfred laughed. "Of course."

The American draped Arthur's arm over his shoulders and placed a hand on his back for support, much to Arthur's complaint. He didn't need to be coddled, to be taken care of like this…!

But for whatever reason, he didn't fight it much. He was probably just tired. Yes, that's all it was. He was too tired to care anymore.

Alfred led Arthur back to Francis's apartment, per his request, and before he knew it, they had arrived. Exhausted and barely clinging to consciousness, Arthur handed Alfred back his bomber jacket – missing the warmth instantly – and nodded curtly.

Alfred slipped it back on with a smile, and the two of them just stood there in front of the apartment complex, feeling awkward. The American was the first to move. He raised a hand in farewell, then turned on his heel and started to walk away.

Arthur felt like there was something he was supposed to say. Something important. He watched Alfred's retreating back as he grew ever smaller, walking into the distance. Eventually, he disappeared completely from sight, leaving Arthur standing alone under the stars.

A few minutes later, Arthur quietly turned and walked inside the building, and into Francis's apartment.

He got dressed his night shirt and boxers, then slid under the covers of the guest room's bed, sinking into the pillows.

As he was drifting off to sleep, he finally knew what it was he had wanted to say.

 _Thank you._

* * *

 _Thanks for staying here for another chapter, everyone!_

 _This one was lots of fun to write, so I hope I didn't botch it too badly. And I hope nobody got too OOC either, it's difficult to write a cute scene between a tsundere punk and an obnoxious but loveably dense fool -w-_

 _Again, reviews are always welcome, and thank you for reading!_

 _Hetalia and characters belong to Himaruya._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The first thing that clearly registered in Arthur's mind that morning was seeing Francis suggestively wiggling his eyebrows at him.

Not the most welcoming (nor attractive) sight to see, mind you. Especially when all you want is a cup of tea, but you're too tired to even stand up straight, let alone keep your eyes open. And the hint of a hangover is gnawing at your brain like a starving animal.

Nope. Francis really needed to get out of his line of sight. Now.

"What the bloody hell are you on about, frog?" Arthur grumbled, pulling his robes closer to him as he waited for his tea to heat up. The Frenchman leaned closer, a grin on his face. At least one of them was wide awake.

"You didn't come home until really late last night, _mon ami_."

Arthur blinked groggily. His glare intensified with his confusion. "So?"

Francis rolled his eyes. "So… I saw Alfred walk you home."

Arthur stared blankly.

"You were awfully _close_ to him. And you were wearing _his jacket_."

Honestly, Arthur had no bloody idea what the wanker was trying to get at. He barely remembered the end of last night anyway; so what if Francis was right? Arthur saw no reason why it mattered any.

Francis, on the other hand, seemed to be getting exasperated. With a roll of his eyes, he pressed harder, saying, "I'm sure you two had quite a lot of fun last night!"

"Not particularly, I-" Arthur stopped. He knew that look in Francis's eyes. "Oh, hell no."

Francis grinned, pleased that Arthur had finally caught on.

Meanwhile, Arthur was burning red, fumbling for some way to convince Francis that he had the completely wrong idea. "I – no, we didn't – you listen here, bloody frog! There is no bloody way-"

Francis hushed him by pressing a finger to his lips, leaning in close. "Now, now, _mon ami_. There's no need to say anything. After all," he smiled cheerfully, "I understand perfectly."

Arthur opened his mouth to either argue or bite Francis's finger off, but before he could do either, the Frenchman had turned and walked out of the room, peeking back over his shoulder to give Arthur one last smirk. Arthur gaped after him, then set his expression into a hard glare. He snatched up his tea and took a long sip, trying desperately to calm his nerves. If he had followed Francis right now, he probably would've ended up punching the man in the jaw – but he was going to attempt to not start a fight on one of his few days off from life, so he waited until he was sufficiently more in control before he finally joined Francis in the living room.

Antonio and Gilbert were awake, too, when Arthur entered. Antonio was on his phone with Francis right beside him on the loveseat, leaning over his shoulder to look at what he was doing. Gilbert was taking up half of the opposite sofa, watching some wildlife documentary. Arthur took a seat beside him and drank his tea slowly, eyes lazily resting on the TV, not that he was paying much attention.

Francis cooed under his breath, and Arthur looked over to see him grinning at Antonio's phone.

"Toni, you did not tell me Lovino was your boyfriend! This is wonderful! _Félicitations!_ "

Antonio laughed and beamed up at his friend. "Ah, yes! _Gracias_! He just agreed last night, actually!"

Gilbert didn't tear his eyes away from the TV – it was showing something about a lion fighting other lions – but did speak up. "It's about time," he responded in a bored tone. "You guys have practically been dating since your sophomore year."

Like Gilbert, Arthur thought that it was long overdue, but he had the decency to congratulate Antonio for it. "Well played, mate. I'm glad for you."

"Thanks, all of you!" Antonio laughed – Arthur couldn't remember hearing him so happy. And that was saying something, considering the bloke was nearly always cheerful about one thing or another.

"Will you shut it, Toni? I'm trying to watch this lion maim another lion, here. Their cubs are at stake!"

"Don't worry about him, _mon cher_. He's just jealous because he's still single."

Gilbert snapped his head up and glared at Francis. "Hey, I could totally pick up people if I wanted to!"

Francis looked as though he sincerely doubted the truth of that statement, but had the grace to look interested. "Oh? So you simply do not 'want to', then?"

Gilbert huffed, turning back to the TV. "That's right! The awesome me doesn't need to date people to be happy!"

"Wait, Gil," Antonio piped up curiously, "I thought you told me you had your eyes on that Canadian kid from Math class?"

Francis laughed as Gilbert spun on Antonio, his blush stark against his pale skin. "Hey! Mind your own business or keep your mouth shut, Toni!"

" _Lo siento_ …" Antonio mumbled, before turning back to his phone, presumably texting Lovino.

With an amused smirk, Francis winked at Gilbert. "Really though, _Mathieu_? I would've expected someone much more your type. Especially considering you dated Elizaveta once."

Arthur wasn't surprised when Gilbert brushed the comment aside, grumbling. "It's not like I love Mattie or anything. Love is for pathetic shits and teenage girls – no offense, Toni."

Francis frowned at that. Arthur had rarely seen Francis wearing anything other than a smile, so to see him this thoroughly displeased by what Gilbert had said was a bit of a shock.

" _L'amour_ is far more than that, Gilbert. It is a reflection of the heart in the eyes of another person – all of your inner passion, your deepest desires, your darkest secrets revealed-"

"NO! AWW, SHIT! THAT BABY LION JUST GOT EATEN BY A HYENA!"

Apparently, Gilbert had turned back to the TV just in time to watch nature at its cruelest. Arthur tried in vain to cover his ears against the violent string of colorful language spewing from the Prussian's mouth, whereas Francis looked dissed and Antonio seemed not to notice.

The Frenchman threw up his arms and scowled at the television, probably damning that hyena to hell for all the suffering he had to put up with now, thanks to Gilbert.

For some reason, Arthur found it within himself to try to help Francis by encouraging the conversation along. It was a stupid idea.

"So, Francis. Is that what love is truly like?" Not that he was curious or anything. Really. He was just trying to make the person who loaned him a weekend home feel less awkward, that's all.

And it worked, to some extent. Francis perked up visibly, the smile returning to his face as he turned to regard Arthur once more. " _Oui_ , it is. It can be frightening, but it's wonderful and beautiful, all the same."

This made Arthur think. As terribly cliché as Francis could be sometimes, the expression on his face hinted that he seemed to be drawing from personal experience, not one of his romance novels. There was a wistfulness in his eyes, something sincere, something that Arthur could only recognize as lovesickness.

"Francis, I don't recall you ever being in love."

It was question disguised as a statement – one that Francis picked up on immediately. He shrugged simply, an action which didn't seem to fit the Frenchman all that well. "I've been in love, once or twice."

How nonchalantly he said that. It was as if he was avoiding the subject without actually _avoiding_ it, and that irked Arthur a little. Yet, really, it was none of his business what Francis felt. He might be Arthur's friend, but friends are allowed to keep secrets from one another.

Arthur stopped prying and left the conversation at that, once more turning to the TV. Gilbert would quietly growl obscenities whenever a hyena showed on the screen, Antonio continued to rapidly text Lovino with a smile on his face, and Francis and Arthur spent the remainder of the time in relative silence.

It ended up being a rather quiet day.

…

Next Monday, Arthur sat in his History class again, trying to pay attention to what his teacher was saying. But something wasn't right.

Alfred wasn't sitting at his desk today.

Despite all the inner arguments with himself, Arthur's gaze kept landing on the empty space where Alfred should be. Where was the lad?Arthur had not heard a word from him since their last conversation, and – while that really only meant a few days spent out of school – it still concerned Arthur somewhat. After all, they were… _friends_ , now…and…

And there he was, opening the door to the classroom and giving the teacher a quick apology before plopping down in his seat. He looked dreadful, with sunken eyes and a drawn face. It looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep these last couple of nights, his mood degrading with him.

Arthur watched as Alfred scowled and pulled out his notes, but didn't ever actually write anything in them. When his homework was handed to him, he looked at it harshly, and a part of Arthur believed it would actually just combust, then and there.

Something was terribly wrong with him today.

At the end of class, Arthur packed up his things and caught up with Alfred, who had already begun storming down the hallway, his hands shoved in his pockets and his form rigid.

"Oi, Alfred."

Alfred looked down and stared at Alfred for a moment, as if he didn't think Arthur was any more than a figment of his imagination. He then managed to crack a weak smile, though it looked forced and heavy.

"Hey, dude. What's up?"

Arthur had always had problems with showing any sort of care or concern for other people. So, even asking Alfred if he was feeling okay was a big problem for him.

Because, you know, it wasn't any of his business or anything.

Somehow, he still managed to ask, "What's wrong?" without making Alfred question why he had taken so long to answer.

Instead, Alfred scratched the side of his face, trying to come up with a suitable response. Eventually, when he couldn't seem to scrounge up an excuse, he sighed reluctantly. "I got in a fight with my dad the other day."

Arthur had not been expecting that, but it didn't entirely surprise him either. Regardless, he felt sympathetic. He knew what that was like.

Alfred ran an uneasy hand through his hair, not minding the lack of response from the Briton. "Yeah, my old man and I are always butting heads. But I've been through worse, so I'll get over it…"

Arthur nodded slowly, still unsure of what to say. "Yes, well…I'm… _pleased_ it isn't too terrible. It's, ah…good to know that you will be alright."

This brought a more honest smile to the American's face. It suited him far more. "Yeah. Anyways, thanks for askin', dude. It means a lot."

Arthur returned a small smile of his own, confident now that he had successfully accomplished the act of comforting someone who was down. Even if it was only a little bit, it was a great victory in his books. He was so confident, in fact, that he didn't bother to think through his next words.

"Just remember that things could always be worse for you. What you've got isn't that bad."

He had stated this perfectly plainly – he wasn't acting smug, or proud, or _anything_. But for some reason, the previous smile washed off of Alfred's face and was replaced with a deep-set frown, and he stopped walking as he turned to face Arthur.

"Not that bad. Arthur, are you seriously telling me this right now?"

Arthur stopped and stared blankly at Alfred, not computing what he'd done wrong yet.

Alfred laughed harshly, humorlessly. "I don't have it that bad? You don't know anything about me! And you definitely have no right to tell me that it's _not that bad!_ "

Alfred looked like he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself, turning away. He stormed along down the hallway on his own.

And Arthur let him go.

* * *

 _"Arthur had rarely seen Francis wearing anything other than a smile" - sometimes I fear he means this literally._

 _Anyways, sorry for the wait! Here's the next chapter! Got to see a little more of the Bad Touch Trio together, they were lots of fun to write. I made my sister laugh so much at this chapter._

 _Things are going to start picking up some from here, I think, so stay tuned :) Until next time, I hope you enjoyed, and reviews are welcomed!_

 _Hetalia and its characters do not belong to me._


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Alfred didn't speak a word to Arthur for the rest of the week.

Arthur hadn't pushed it. What he had said to Alfred – that things could always be worse, that he didn't have it that bad – was the truth. He wasn't backing down on that.

However, he did recognize that he had made an error in his judgment, or lack thereof.

But if Alfred wanted to brood over it and ignore Arthur, that was his decision. He wasn't going to push boundaries for a fleeting attempt at friendship. There was no point in trying to become closer to someone if they didn't want your company, anyway.

Arthur might or might not have seen Alfred at Nine Lives, but if he _had_ been around, he didn't stay for the after party. Arthur was fairly certain their time interacting – and, consequently, their friendship – was at an end.

Until he woke up with a message from an unknown number.

 _From: Unknown_

 _Yo! This is Alfred. What're you up to?_

Arthur blinked at the text sleepily, listening to see if his mother was awake before texting him back.

 _To: Unknown_

 _How the bloody hell did you get my number._

It took Alfred a few minutes to respond. Arthur yawned and stretched out on his bed, blinking at the brightness of his little screen in the dark room.

 _From: Alfred_

 _It's magic ;) Can't tell ya!_

Arthur frowned. He could have had another fifteen minutes of sleep before he had to get ready for school, but instead, he was texting someone who had given him the silent treatment all week and was currently acting like nothing had happened.

 _To: Alfred_

 _Alfred, you will tell me how you got my number or I'm blocking you._

 _._

 _From: Alfred_

 _NOOO no no nonononono don't do that! D8 Dude, okay, the Frenchie gave it to me! Don't block my number!_

Arthur frowned. Francis was giving out his number? Bloody frog.

 _To: Alfred_

 _There, that wasn't so hard. And to answer your earlier question, you woke me up, so I'm not quite 'up to' anything._

He listened closely again before he pulled the covers up over his head and the phone, hiding the light.

 _From: Alfred_

 _Cool! Want to hang out after school today? :)_

Arthur paused, confused. He had no idea why Alfred was suddenly so friendly. Was it a trap, disguised as a simple meeting after school? Was Alfred going to try to get his teammates to gang up on him for insulting him earlier?

The notion itself seemed ridiculous, but Arthur had reason to be suspicious. People didn't just get better after a week of dwelling on something bad. Not really.

And they certainly didn't act as if nothing had happened before.

Hesitantly, Arthur typed out his response.

 _To: Alfred_

 _What brought this on?_

 _._

 _From: Alfred_

 _Can't I just ask to hang out with my good pal Artie? ;)_

 _._

 _To: Alfred_

 _You haven't said a word to me all week._

 _._

 _From: Alfred_

 _Awwww, come onnnnn…you know you wanna say yes :)_

 _._

 _To: Alfred_

 _Not particularly._

 _._

 _From: Alfred_

 _Dude, I just wanna say hello to my new friend! I didn't get to see you at Nine Lives, so… Maybe I'll treat you to tea or whatever you Brits like to do. What do you say?_

Arthur stood, dropping his phone down on his bed as he walked over to his closet. He wasn't used to hanging out, especially with other people, and it was exceptional that this person who actually _asked him to hang out_ was actually an established friend, even if barely so. He wasn't quite certain what he was going to tell his mum – hopefully, he wouldn't have to say anything. She worked all day and late into the night, so he should be fine if he got home at a decent hour.

He picked up the phone again in between getting his clothes on, shooting Alfred a text.

 _To: Alfred_

… _I don't see why not._

He got dressed in his school clothes, then sat back on his bed again, texting Alfred a little more. The American asked briefly about his band, and how their performance went on Friday (he hadn't been able to come because his father was yelling at him again) and if Arthur's week had been fine.

The Englishman replied that the performance had done well, he was truly sorry about Alfred's parental-related issues, and that his week had been typical. His responses were nothing special, but they seemed to excite the American (as much as he could tell through a mobile device) and Alfred only got increasingly more stoked to be hanging out with Arthur after school today.

They continued texting each other for some time, and soon enough, Arthur lost track of time. When he finally glanced up at the time, he dropped his phone in shock and ran to scoop up his things. He didn't want to be late; he _couldn't_ be late. In a frantic rush, he slung his torn rucksack over his shoulder and hurried outside, just barely managing to catch the bus.

…

"Oi, frog!"

Francis turned around and smiled cheekily at Arthur upon hearing his voice. He had a shorter woman under his arm, but he turned to her and told her to go ahead without him as he faced Arthur calmly. " _Oui,_ _Sourcils_? What can I do to help you?"

"Cut the shit, Frenchman," Arthur hissed under his breath. At Francis's amused expression, he glared harder.

"I haven't the slightest idea what's gotten you in such a bad mood today, Arthur." His voice was frustratingly light, like he was almost trying to sing. "I can't tease you about it if you don't tell me."

"You went and gave Alfred my bloody number, that's what! What the hell did you do that for?!"

Francis clicked his tongue, clearly enjoying seeing Arthur so riled up. "It's a little number, _mon ami_ , not your address or your social security. What's the problem?"

Crossing his arms, Arthur leveled a glare up at the Frenchman, cursing inwardly how short he was. Francis gave him a lazy smile, and put a hand on his hip as he regarded the Briton.

"You…didn't have my permission."

Well, that was a weak excuse.

Francis seemed to think so, too, snickering at the response. "My apologizes. But really, you need more friends. I thought I was doing you a favor!"

Huffing indignantly, Arthur jabbed Francis's chest with a finger. "I have plenty of friends, _frog_ , and I don't need you giving out my number! I'll talk to these people if I want to!"

Francis shrugged, a sly smirk on his face.

"You don't regret it at all, do you," Arthur commented dryly. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "He woke me up this morning and asked me to hang out with him."

Francis looked up at Arthur with surprised blue eyes. "Is that so?" he asked, wearing an expression that didn't seem to support nor oppose the idea.

Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly. "Yes," he answered hesitantly, "Alfred asked to hang out after school today."

Francis seemed to falter for a second before he slowly smiled, and slung an arm over Arthur's shoulders. "Is it a date?" he asked, looking up at Arthur teasingly.

He hated the feeling of a blush creeping up his cheeks. He hated the look Francis gave him more.

"It is not a date, Francis, and you'd better not tell anyone otherwise! He probably just wants to clear up our little…mishap, earlier." He shrugged. "Or find an excuse to eat."

"I don't think you're giving him enough credit, Arthur! He's obviously interested in you." Francis started walking to his next class nonchalantly, as if the idea was simple news.

Arthur, however, was incredibly confused.

"W-Wait, no, he isn't! What gave you that idea?!" Arthur sped up to walk beside the Frenchman, feeling a little flustered. Francis just looked back at him knowingly.

"Just trust me, _mon ami_. I have a very good eye for these things."

Arthur stopped following him, watching as he walked away.

There was no way Alfred liked him. People never liked him. Alfred was just now getting over being incredibly angry at him actually, and they'd only talked a few times. People don't just _like_ other people like that. These kinds of things took time, didn't they?

That's right.

Francis was simply being silly again. He was trying to get ideas into Arthur's head, but he wasn't going to allow it.

Besides, it's not like the feeling would ever be reciprocated, anyway.

Nope. Arthur Kirkland was not interested in anyone, and he had no plans for that to change anytime soon.

…

Arthur was sitting with the rest of the band at lunch, eating away slowly at his sandwich as Antonio and Gilbert argued over what the word "awesome" truly meant, and how Gilbert's extensive use of said word ended up ruining the effect. Francis stayed out of it for the most part, and started texting someone on his phone, presumably the girl from earlier.

When Arthur finished eating, he reached for his pocket to see if Alfred had texted (not that he actually cared, of course – he was simply bored) but paused as soon as his hand touched his pocket.

Where was his phone?

A little frantic, Arthur fished through his pockets first, then put his rucksack on the table and started fishing through that, as well. Francis looked over at him, curious.

"Is something missing, _mon cher_?"

"I'm not your _cher_ ," Arthur protested distractedly. "And yes, I can't find my phone…"

"Did you check your pockets?"

Arthur glared at him. "No, I obviously decided I would dump out my entire rucksack before looking where I always put it."

Francis held up his hands in mock defense. "Alright, alright. Where else could it have gone?"

Arthur thought back. There was always the chance he'd lost it at school, but he was a very organized person, so that was unlikely. It could have been stolen, but he kept his distance from most everyone, so that was also unlikely. Or, it could still be at his-

"…It's at my house."

Francis gave him a worried look.

"It's at my house," Arthur repeated again lamely. "Probably on my bed."

Francis rubbed his back softly. "Your mother will not see it, will she?"

Arthur ran his hand through his hair, anxious. "I don't think so. And as long as she doesn't look through the messages, everything should be okay…"

The Frenchman nodded, but he seemed about as concerned as Arthur felt.

Thankfully, his mother worked from the middle of the day to late at night, so there was little chance she'd actually see his phone, and even less of a chance she's look into it. Still, a part of him couldn't help but worry.

"Everything will be alright, _mon cher_."

If only Arthur knew that would be true.

…

Arthur rushed home that day. He had told Francis to pass on the message to Alfred that he would not be able to spend time after school today, and that he apologized. He wasn't sure how Alfred would take the news – it didn't particularly matter all that much in the grand scheme of it all.

Especially not if his mother saw his phone.

Arthur unlocked his door and sprinted to his room, then began quickly throwing his blankets off of his bed and searching frantically for his cell phone.

He froze when he heard a voice from his doorway.

"So, my little troublemaker has come back at last."

* * *

 _Big things are coming soon._

 _By the way, I've officially decided that, when I end (Not) So Perfect - something which wouldn't happen for a while yet - I will write a shorter story from Francis's point of view. I really want to explore his character more._

 _Reviews are always treasured!_

 _Hetalia does not belong to me._


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